Searching for Pop

In New York City there is a very special ship, an aircraft carrier, that is tied up to the docks on the Hudson. My very life was made possible because a fellow who served on this ship made decisions which delivered him safely out of harm's way. That fellow was my father and he served on the Intrepid through the fierce blitz of kamikaze attacks during World War II. They called it The War In The Pacific and Pop found himself in Fire Control, responsible for sighting, aiming and firing the big guns on board the carrier. If you were in Fire Control you were a good student, strong in math skills and a valued asset to the Navy.

I'd originally planned my New York trip in spring of 2008 but found out that the Intrepid was still being reconditioned and refitted in her role as an air and space museum so I aborted the trip. I'd always wanted to explore New York but for one reason or another never quite made it there. I finally did in March of 2009.

I saved my pilgrimage to the Intrepid for a sunny Saturday morning and planned on spending a couple of hours poking through the ship, hoping for that magical connection when I would feel Pop's presence. As rational as we think we are there is still that itch for the unbelievable, that somehow we will sense the spirit of those long gone, just like in the movies. So no, I didn't hear voices or have an out-of-body experience or collapse in a heap on the flight deck. But I was profoundly moved, impressed and almost euphoric that I was actually walking the same decks and hatches that my father had trod sixty-five years earlier. At the same time I had a sense of longing and loss, wishing that Pop could see this place and tell me every detail of what he experienced so long ago. Sauntering about this huge vessel with him would have been a revelation as he would excitedly tell me intricate details of his daily life as we turned every corner. My imagination runs wild thinking of how excited he'd be as he awakened memories that even he thought had been lost forever. But it will never happen except maybe in my dreams because Pop died suddenly back in the summer of 2002. His loss sent me into a tailspin that I wouldn't recover from for two years. But that was then, and this is now. It was time to explore this place where my father went to do his patriotic duty. A place where he found himself fighting for his very life.

"At 1248, a Zero force was detected and five minutes later, one of their number crashed into Intrepid, starting a serious fire, while another one hit the carrier Cabot. Fires were under control again, however, when at 1300 a third strike (the first strike didn't hit anything, Intrepid was hit by the second) was encountered. It dove from low height into the twisting Intrepid's deck, blowing a hole into her flight-deck and setting afire the hangar from stern to stem. Though these fires were under control quickly, their heat helped other fires throughout the ship, and the badly damaged flight deck, including her arrestor gear, made flight operations impossible. Her strike planes and CAP were taken aboard by other carriers, and Intrepid made it back to Ulithi and hence, to Pearl Harbor. The attack cost her 69 men dead and 35 seriously wounded."



Pop would be the first to tell you that he was no hero. He was just a guy trying get out of there alive, trying to do his job and just wishing he could go home. To me he's a hero but he would say otherwise. I went below deck where I found an assortment of displays and multimedia kiosks showing ship operations. I passed a museum case where a very familiar uniform was on display...



I quickly grabbed my Ipod Touch from my back pocket to access the all too familiar picture in My Family Folder. There it was, or rather, there he was...my father in the identical uniform.

This uniform was special. It was the uniform of a Fire Controlman complete with the telescope on a tripod prominently displayed on his right arm. I looked around for one of the docents, the knowledgeable old-timers who wander around the hangar deck answering the questions of the meandering visitors and tourists. I believe his name was John Gibbs and he was dressed in the familiar bright yellow T-shirt and Navy baseball cap which told everyone that he was a former crewman of this very ship. I showed John the photo of my father in his Fire Controlman's uniform and what he saw told him volumes. As soon as he knew Pop was in Fire Control he told me that only the sharpest guys with the best math skills were shunted into Fire Control. The entire fate of the ship rested on these guys to get the weaponry aimed and firing quickly so only the best were admitted to this little club. John noticed that Pop's insignia was on his right arm and therein told a tale: There was a time when the Navy put Fire Control insignias on the right arm if you were adept and on the left arm if you were average. They abandoned this practice after noticing that it created a class system with resulting jealousies and resentments. Finally the Navy decided that all patches would go on the left sleeve. If you earned that insignia, you deserved it with no caveats. But Pop's insignia was on his right arm which told John Gibbs that Pop was top drawer. He was noticeably impressed.



John hustled me over to one of the tour guides, a fellow named Sam who took great interest in my photos of Pop. He turned to the crowd of fifteen or so tourists and announced "This gentleman's father served on the Intrepid during the very kamikaze attack on November 25th of 1944 depicted on our hangar deck!" The crowd pulled closer and I showed them all the photos on the Ipod Touch, magnifying objects of interest while they drank up Pop's story. They were especially interested in the pictures of Pop taken fifteen years later while he was a Chief Petty Officer. Even the veterans marveled at his array of clusters and medals on his Chief Petty Officers's uniform. You could only get many of those honors in wartime and Pop had plenty to go around. For the better part of that hour, my father was a celebrity, a rock star whose story and pictures made all that history jump off the page for the lucky people who got a glimpse into his life. Sam told me that the Information Desk would want to know as much as possible about Pop, would I be willing to share it? Silly question. I want the whole world to know who he was and what he went through. Sam handed me off to the Information Desk and I told them as much as I could. The fellow there then called John Gibbs over and asked whether the "old timers" were still here. The old timers in question were men of my father's age who were still alive and came down on the weekends to visit and hang out with their old buddies. "We can look, let's go" he replied. So after chatting a bit more Mr. Gibbs took me below deck to a hatch that was marked "Staff Only" and asked me to climb a flight of stairs and knock on the hatch door. "This one?" I queried. "Yeah, just knock, somebody'll come". The hatch opened and a fifty-ish guy opened it wide, took a look at me, took a look at John looking up from below and said "What's up?" John explained that I was the son of a WW II Intrepid crewman, could I come in? The man smiled broadly and welcomed me into a large meeting room deep within the bowels of the ship. Inside there were six other sixty-ish guys who once filled in on my identity welcomed me like a long lost relative. "How about something to drink? A beer?" one of them asked. "Hey, I'll take a Coke if you've got it". "Comin' right up pal". These were sailors from New York. Retired now but still drawn to the extended family that the Navy will always be for them. They still come here to meet or play cards and shoot the breeze. You don't find better people than the guys you serve with and these fine men will always have each other and the Intrepid.

I told them Pop's story and showed them the pictures. One of them took a look at the sepia-toned Navy portrait of Pop circa 1941 and exclaimed "My God, he's a movie star! Look at that face. That's YOU!" Another commented "Wow, you look just like him". I was a little embarrassed, and really proud. Yeah, he's a movie star alright. Or he should have been. They were rapt with interest and expressed how sorry they were that he'd passed away. They wanted to hear as many stories as I could tell them from Pop's past, stories that I wish I'd remembered with more detail. They told me that the old timers, the men from my father's era, had just left. They come on the weekends early and leave before late afternoon kicks in. I'd just missed them. I was keenly disappointed but I somehow knew I'd be coming back here someday so my regret was somewhat muted. The guys told me how to obtain my father's service record which I needed if I wanted to reconstruct the timeline of his military service. We posed for pictures and after an hour I found that my Coke was finished and I had to leave. "My father would love to come here and shoot the shit with you guys" I said. "If he lived in New York he'd be here every day playing cards or something". Pop would have liked those guys. Those are his people and they welcomed me like family which I will never forget.



I thought I was going to spend a couple of hours with the Intrepid but somehow it had turned into four. I had come searching for Pop but only found whispers and vestiges of him. But the people I met welcomed me and accepted me without question because of his service. In one respect, they are him. But he himself remains elusive and out of reach. I'm hoping to find him the next time I visit. How great it would be to stumble upon him hitting golf balls off the fantail of the Intrepid into the Hudson. I'd hit a few and he'd then turn to me and give me that shitty grin and say "You're shagging balls today, I'd get started on that." I swear I wouldn't tell him to stick it up his ass, I'd just say "Sure Pop, anything for you".